


the best of the vanished marvels

by oneorangeshoelace



Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Celtic Mythology, Greek and Roman Mythology, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Ancient Greece, Ancient Romans Sucked So Much You Guys, Ancient Rome, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, First Meetings, M/M, Oscar Wilde - Freeform, Sadness, They Ruined Like Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneorangeshoelace/pseuds/oneorangeshoelace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But they won’t," Dionysus said softly, and Aengus looked up at him for the first time in several minutes. Steeling himself after internally reeling from the incredible grey-green of Aengus’ eyes, Dionysus continued, "No one will have us. No one will ever have us again. The world doesn’t want us anymore, with our revelry and madness and song. Everything has to be controlled now. And no one wants to seek a higher plane of understanding in a way that doesn’t make them look better to their neighbors."</p><p>"So cynical," Aengus said softly. "Is that really what you think of our lot in life?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best of the vanished marvels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [letssoakemforcrutchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letssoakemforcrutchy/gifts).



> Requested by letssoakemforcrutchy on Tumblr. The prompt was to write a drabble for a God and Counterpart from Another Pantheon AU for E/R. The only way I was interested in making that work was in an American Gods AU.

It was in a rather seedy bar in St. Louis, of all places, when they met—when they finally met, the darker one thought to himself privately. He took a moment to still himself when he recognized the other. They were both gods, after all, and on the same side. There was nothing to fret about.

He sidled up next to the other and sat down. “Aengus Óg,”he pronounced distinctly, making the other jump and immediately try to hide it. “You’re far from where your people tend to congregate.”

As Aengus Óg turned his head to look at him, his golden curls spilled over his shoulder quite fetchingly, catching the eye of the one who had just spoke. Fascinating. Either people still actually worshiped him in droves, or he had access to some very good hair products. Considering what had happened to the poor Druids, it was probably the latter.

The darker one dragged his eyes back to those of Aengus, realizing regretfully that any longer look would be considered staring. He waited patiently for a reply.

"So are you, Dionysus," Aengus the young replied smoothly, betraying none of the alarm he had demonstrated when Dionysus had first spoken his name. "I suppose we both have our reasons."

"Yes, I suppose we do," Dionysus said, mirroring the other’s smooth manner, only a little mockingly. "But I mean to say—unless you have something so very much better to do, it might not be such a very bad way to spend a little time talking about those reasons. Or talking about anything at all, really?" Okay, so the smoothness had dissipated after about half a sentence, but dammit, he had been wanting to chat up Aengus for—oh, it had to be centuries now. A long time to harbor a crush, really.

Aengus was eyeing him suspiciously. “I’m afraid I must demur,” he said coolly.

"I’ll buy you a drink." 

Aengus huffed, and it was the only time a deity had ever looked anything approaching “cute”. “Fine. You’ve got me. You knew that would work, you miserable old sod,” he added accusingly.

Dionysus smiled. The Tuatha Dé Danaan could be so delightfully predictable sometimes. “I mean, I had a fairly good idea. We are gods of practically the same thing, after all.”

Aengus smiled sadly. “Not quite, I don’t think. But it’s not like anyone remembers that about me anymore.”

"I can’t imagine what that must be like," Dionysus said with no little sympathy while trying to catch the bartender’s attention. "But just a moment—what’ll it be?"

Aengus cast him a withering look. “What do you think?”

"A Guinness, then?"

"Of course a Guinness,” he retorted.

"Very well, then." He ordered it quickly and then turned back to Aengus. "What are you in charge of exactly, then?"

"Oh, this and that. Revelry, poetry, love, and youth most of all…it’s been such a very long time. I think that’s what I was honored for."

"Then I admire you very much," Dionysus said frankly. "All of those are the traits I’ve always admired most in the Celts. They’re an eternally youthful people, I’ve always thought. I used to regret that the Greeks never cast their eyes in your direction so that I could be closer to the Celts, but then…"

"The Romans came," Aengus said softly, his eyes focused on something very far away.

"Yes."

"And they destroyed so much. They destroyed my altars, and they killed my beautiful, brave, brilliant Druids—" Aengus interrupted himself, making himself take a drink from the glass that had been put in front of him. "My people were incredible. They had the most gorgeous poetry I have ever heard, even to this day. The Romans didn’t care. The Christians didn’t care. The fucking English certainly didn’t care. No one saved their words, no one who wanted to could, and now those words are gone forever, and the people are certainly gone, too.” 

"You would like my brother," Dionysus said after a pause. "I mean—you might like many of my brothers, but I was thinking of my half-brother Apollo. Have you met him?"

"No, I can’t say I have," Aengus said, looking at him oddly.

"He has the same—high regard for words. He absolutely loves poetry. But then, he loves logic even more, so I think perhaps you and I remain more alike on the subject of the arts. And of course, you are much more beautiful than Apollo. He thinks too much. ‘But Beauty, real Beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself an exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face.’"

"He was one of my favorites," Aengus said wistfully. "Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde. He was named after Fionn mac Cumhail’s son, you know. He shone just as bright as any of my Druids ever did, and of course, his heritage meant much more to him than he ever really showed—it colored every aspect of his life, actually. But the English killed his small revolution, just as they kill all revolution." He shook his head. "I do so like revolutions. The young revolting against the old ways—there is nothing so beautiful."

"You sound French," Dionysus smiled.

"Well, you asked me why I was here. That’s why. St. Louis—of course it used to be a French city, it isn’t anymore, but I can feel the Gallic spirit still in its streets. I do love the French. Not as much as the Celts, but I would adopt the French in a heartbeat if they would have me."

"But they won’t," Dionysus said softly, and Aengus looked up at him for the first time in several minutes. Steeling himself after internally reeling from the incredible grey-green of Aengus’ eyes, Dionysus continued, "No one will have us. No one will ever have us again. The world doesn’t want us anymore, with our revelry and madness and song. Everything has to be controlled now. And no one wants to seek a higher plane of understanding in a way that doesn’t make them look better to their neighbors."

"So cynical," Aengus said softly. "Is that really what you think of our lot in life?"

Dionysus only shrugged.

"I think…no. Never mind."

"Tell me," Dionysus urged.

"Well, if we want to have our way again at any point, I think the best path to getting it would be a revolution of our own."

Dionysus only pretended to consider the words. At this point in the conversation, he would have agreed to anything that Aengus Óg said to him.

"I’ll drink to that," he said finally.

Aengus’ face lit up in a smile, and it would be worth anything to get him to smile like that again.

"Now let’s get out of here," Aengus said conspiratorially as he slid off his stool.

"What?"

"Your place or mine?"

Whatever the future was to bring, it was definitely worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to make it clear that modern people know next to nothing about Celtic mythology because the Celts did not believe in writing down their myths because they felt it encouraged people to forget them, and so the only source of the myths were the Druids who trained for twenty or more years to learn all of the myths and legends. When the Druids were all killed or assimilated or it was made illegal for them to tell their stories, the myths died with them, for the most part. We actually don't know what aspects of life Aengus Óg was in charge of--I just thought he seemed to be similar to Dionysus from the little we do know of him.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr over at oneorangeshoelace and dear letssoakemforcrutchy at nobodytoldthehorse.


End file.
